


one step closer

by gossamernotes



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, James "Bucky" Barnes & 21st Century, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, bucky explores new york via tourist traps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2371358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamernotes/pseuds/gossamernotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You ready, big guy?"</p><p>Bucky turns, keeping his eyes low to the ground, and blinks when he comes face-to-face with bare, tanned skin. The tight briefs read: <em>The Naked Cowboy</em>.</p><p>It's a fitting name.</p><p>[The story wherein Bucky relearns New York through various tourist traps, and Steve heads out on a international hunt to find his best friend. They get to the same place eventually, one step at a time.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. concrete jungle

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it has been a long time. I have been sitting on this idea after seeing a tumblr post about the idea, and I just wanted to write a handful of scenes about how it could go down. Because Bucky/NYC is almost as big of an OTP of mine as is Bucky/Steve.
> 
> If you have the time, please leave a comment. I've not posted in awhile, so I miss hearing from you all. I would love to know what you all think or if you want more. I had a lot of fun with this.
> 
> ALSO: If anyone wants to beta read for me, I would love you forever. I really just need some help with that department, so drop me a comment about that as well if you are interested. I would be eternally grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow and fangirl with me on [tumblr](http://brooklynboystosupersoldiers.tumblr.com) because I love you all.

**MAY 2014**

"You sure about this?"

There is a silence between them, and when Steve finally turns his eyes from his gun to Sam, he knows there is no room for doubt. They've come too far. His eyes are clear, despite the bruised shadows underneath them, and the thick beard that lines Steve's jaw is matted with dirt and dried blood. 

Under any other circumstance, his face would be clean shaven and smooth. But Steve hasn't had many days since Washington that have left him with enough time to shave. Hell, it's not even a thought at this point.

These days, he only has his mission. 

Resting a finger against the trigger of his pistol, Steve nods at Sam with a tight jerk of his head. 

"We go in guns blazing."

Sam says nothing, but he doesn't need to. He's never needed to. Instead, he flexes his shoulders — and Steve sees the folded wings on his friend's back strain against the movement — before Sam's lips curl into a grin. 

"That's how it is?"

Steve sighs, ignoring the heat of the explosions sifting through the air, and rolls onto the ball of his feet. There are noises surrounding the falling base like staccato gunfire and shifting concrete. When he finally notices the smell of petrol, Steve's chest eases, and he starts putting together a plan that will finish what they started. 

It's just one step of many he's got left finish before he can complete his mission. 

Reaching for a grenade at his belt, Steve lets a smile roll onto his lips when he finally spots the trail of gasoline that heads straight for a group of Hydra agents. Their guns are cocked, ready to fire at the slightest twitch in the shadows, and Steve knows that he is looking at their way out. 

He tilts his head towards the door, and even without looking, Steve knows that Sam is giving him a _look_. 

"That's how it is."

Sam huffs when Steve rolls the grenade in his palm, muttering under his breath like he thinks a super soldier can't hear him. 

Steve can. 

Or he can until he tosses the grenade into the air and watches as it lands by the line of gasoline. The explosion that follows singes the edge of his uniform — newly stitched with kevlar and carbon polyester thanks to Tony's insistence — before moving from his cover. 

It's chaos. It's bloody. It's everything that Steve hates about war. 

He tosses his shield towards the flames as Sam tucks behind him, gun drawn and bullets flying. 

_One step closer_ , Steve thinks. This is how it has to be. 

All he can do for now is hope that Bucky is safe. If he lets himself, he'll never stop thinking about what Bucky could be doing. 

________

With a shake of his head, Bucky flicks a strand of hair from his face. It's getting longer by the day, but still, he can't bring himself to take a knife to it. 

He's outside, sweltering inside the thick pullover he stole from a laundromat. The sleeves are long enough that he can tuck his arms into them so that no one mentions his arm or scars. 

He's afraid of what he might do if someone did. 

Bucky stills when he hears a voice next to him, muscles coiling tightly beneath his skin. He looks to his side and sees nothing. 

"Hey!"

He blinks and looks down to find a three-foot-nothing kid standing at his knees with a cup of ice cream in hand. 

Bucky swallows and discovers he doesn't know what to do. 

The kid rocks on his feet and licks at his chocolate-lined lips. Bucky double-takes at his ice cream in hand and sees a sherbet hue of blues and purples scooped into the cup.

Interesting. 

"Hi, my name is Peter. My mom got my sister this ice cream, but she feels sick or something. We were going to throw it away, but I'm a nice person and you look like you might want some ice cream," the kid says with a smile so wide that Bucky can count _exactly_ how many teeth this boy is missing.

He flicks his eyes just over his shoulders and sees an older lady — purse in one hand and a little girl on her hip — whose watching them with a look that Bucky recognizes as one he's used before. 

The memories aren't there, not yet. He bets they'd have something to do with Steve though. 

Bucky looks back to the kid at his feet. "What are you going to do then," he asks. 

The boy rolls his eye before lifting the cup of melting ice cream towards Bucky. "I'm going to be a nice person and give it to you. It's called being thoughtful," he insists as he pushes the cup closer to Bucky. 

Bucky forces himself to relax — _no, shit, he's not hydra, he's just a kid, jesus_ — before he takes the cup from the boy's outstretched hand. 

The boy beams. Bucky tries to smile.

"Thanks," he says after a moment, and the boy laughs lightly. 

That laugh, Bucky remembers, is definitely one he's heard before. It's not Steve's though. No, that is all his sister's.

The boy lifts his hand up towards Bucky before closing it into a fist. He stares at Bucky expectantly, and Bucky just stares. 

Frowning, the boy tilts his head. "C'mon, man! Bump it!"

"Bump what?"

The kid rolls his eyes before knocking his fist loosely into Bucky's arm, and rather than flinching — striking back with a tense swing of his metal arm — Bucky watches as the boy walks away. When it's all over, he is left standing in Central Park with a cup of half-melted ice cream and more questions than he knows how to answer. 

Another breeze blows, and again, the same piece of hair falls into his eyes. 

Bucky turns and heads back to his shitty leased apartment with every intention of shaving his head. He even takes a bite of the ice cream as he makes his way home. 

It's disgusting. Too sweet and creamy on his tongue. 

By the time he gets to his place, he's eaten it all. 

________

**JUNE 2014**

Steve is running. 

It's kind of his thing. 

Except it's not the fun kind of running that Sam and he fell into every morning before the whole world went to hell.

It's the kind of running he does when operatives are on his tail and they're not shy about letting him know it. Because they won't stop shooting at either him or Sam, and sadly, this is the fourth time this week they've found themselves hauling ass out of Kiev to the safety of their hideout. 

Sam runs into his shoulder when a bullet whistles past his ear, and Steve pushes him in front of his larger body. Between the two of them, they both know who'll have the best chance of surviving if they get shot. 

"This was," Sam pants, "a great idea."

Steve sees an opening down an alley and grabs Sam's arm to drag him down the side path. It throws off the agents long enough for them to get to an open market, and Steve tries to remember everything Natasha ever told him about blending in. 

"You still have the intel," Steve asks lowly as they shred their jackets and pocket scarves and shawls from stalls as they pass by them. The market is busy enough that no one notices as they weave through the crowd.

Sam taps the pocket of his jeans, and Steve can see the bulky outline of the USB through the denim. "Oh, I got it. After all that? You best believe I kept that safe."

Steve snorts in the back of his throat, but he cuts it off when he sees one of the agents coming his way. He tenses but manages to keep his steps slow. Tilting his head towards Sam, he gets ready to give a plan of action, but all he can see is Sam's wide eyes and flushed cheeks. 

"Hell no, Rogers. I don't care how uncomfortable it makes people. You are not as pretty as Natasha, man. No can do," Sam sputters, and Steve nearly chokes when he realizes that Sam thought Steve was going to kiss him. 

"What? _No_ , wait, just. No, we need to-"

A voice calls out over the crowd. "There they are!"

Sam and Steve groan. 

________

"Mommy, can I have it?"

A woman laughs — snorting even — before placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. 

"Maybe for Christmas, sweetie. Not today."

The little girl pulls her lips into a pout that furrows her eyebrows. Bucky watches from across the room since he's already marked everyone else there. 

Out of everyone here, she's the biggest threat. He's never known what to do when little girls cry. 

Pointing at the display towering over her, the little girl widens her eyes as if the look may change her mom's mind. 

"But mommy! It's a Bucky Bear! It's so cute," she whines. Her mother kneels down and curls a lock of her daughter's hair between her fingers. 

"I know, Steph, but you've already got one. Remember?"

"Yeah, but it's old! And Amy got one last month that's even cuter than mine, but this one is even better than hers. Please, mommy, please?"

Her mom shakes her head, and Bucky winces when the little girl does finally start sniffling under her breath. The two make their way out of the room, and a group of boys scramble towards the display case to press their hands against the dirtied glass. 

Bucky stays where he is with his back to the wall (so no one can come up on him) and with his eyes open to every exit (because Hydra is twisted enough to take a hit on FAO Schwarz as easily as they would anywhere else). His metal fist is clenched in his pocket, and Bucky's glad the room is loud enough with the shrill squeals of children so that no one can hear how often his arm is recalibrating. 

It's a near constant thing these days with how stressed he is. He tries not to think about it. 

Right now, it's the life-sized Bucky Bear staring him down through the glass that's got him on edge. The short brown fur and wide white eyes look down at him from across the room, and Bucky fights and fails to remember how this even happened. 

What the _hell_ is a Bucky Bear?

The bear's blue-and-red onesie makes Bucky's jaw twinge because if there was ever a time he wore such colors, he doesn't remember it. He's glad for that though. Even now, he knows he's not a fan of the masked ensemble. 

"Oh my god, that's so cool!"

"Dude, you think they have any more in the back? I think they're all sold out."

"It's so fluffy that I want to cry."

Apparently, Bucky is the only one who doesn't know what's going on.

Yeah. Definitely not a fan. 

________

**JULY 2014**

Natasha dropped them another location after their last fiasco, and honestly, Steve is just glad to get out of Ukraine after being chased halfway across the damn country. 

France is a nice change. Well, as much as it can be. Hunting Hydra and intel is no easier than it was before.

At least he can speak the language here.

Sam? Not so much.

They're at a hotel — an honest-to-god hotel with hot water and clean sheets that don't have bleached bloodstains on them. It's enough to make Sam flop on the bed when they finally get to their room, but Steve just heads to their table and sits in front it before pulling out his laptop. 

He doesn't have the time to take a break. His mission is already running long. 

Steve has just plugged the USB into his laptop, bracing himself for whatever files wait for him, before Sam's hand tips the screen of the computer shut. 

"Steve."

Refusing to meet Sam's look — because he knows what it will say — Steve tries to open his laptop again. 

This time around, Sam lifts the computer from the table before tossing it onto his bed. 

Steve's chest swells hotly against his shirt, and when he stands, the chair falls to the ground behind him with the force of his anger. "Sam, stop."

There is an edge to his voice, and Steve hates it. He's not heard it leave his lips for years, but he can remember when it last did. His sharp tongue, the rough timbre of his words. They are all a memory from years past. 

The last time they found their way to Steve's lips was in a bombed out bar in England after his whole world fell away before his eyes. 

He's not particuarly proud that they're back again. 

Sam doesn't move under Steve's glare, and damn, Steve might have been impressed by that any other time but not _now_. 

"You need to rest," Sam says after a moment, and Steve scoffs. 

"I had seventy years of rest, Sam. I've had my fill."

"That's crap, Rogers, and you know it. You can't keep running yourself down like this."

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. "I know my limits. You don't need to remind me."

Sitting himself down on the edge of his bed, Sam waves towards Steve. "That may be, but I know you're compromised. It makes things from my end look a little different when I see you-"

"Doing what," Steve pushes, and again, the stiffness of his words makes his stomach turn. 

Sam answers as if he hadn't noticed.

"You're punishing yourself."

Steve turns, lost for words, and looks out the window. They're in a small town — far, far away from Paris, but the dimpled hills and cloudy skies almost make Steve believe that it's 1945 and the Germans are just months from defeat.

That Dernier and Jones are taking rounds at the local bars, thrilling officers and dames alike with their tales of the war. 

That Peggy had sent him a wire a week ago with intel on their next strike, but left a line about the Stork Club at the end. It was someplace she'd been wanting to take him. 

That Bucky was still himself — still alive and whole and the boy that Steve grew up battling Brooklyn with. 

"…still with me?"

Steve coughs before dragging a breath into his jilted lungs. Sam is just behind him, and Steve can feel the burn prickling at the back of his eyes. 

Sam puts an arm on Steve's shoulder and squeezes loosely. "We're getting there. Just take it one step at a time."

Closing his eyes, Steve tries to forget Bucky's easy smile or the way he used too much aftershave or how every piece of his life somehow intertwined with Bucky's in ways that made them inseparable. 

________

Talking candy is new for Bucky. 

He's almost one-hundred percent sure that talking candy wasn't a thing in the 40s. 

Almost. 

Times Square is loud with lights and colors and sound, and Bucky can barely stand outside long enough to see the neon billboards before ducking into the nearest store. 

That's where he finds the talking candy. 

There are swarms of people walking around the store, fingers flying and with bags of candy clutched in their hands. He walks around the store, careful of bumping into anyone, and tries to remember if he ever ate M&Ms before shipping off to war. 

He doesn't think so. This is all so strange that Bucky thinks he would remember it, surely. 

As he makes his way into another room, Bucky's steps falter when he comes face-to-face with a wall of candy. They come in all sorts of color with every shade he could think of. 

Steve, Bucky knows, would love this. Especially now that he's not as blind as a godforsaken bat. This would be right up his alley. 

He walks around the stalls, watching as children fill their bags to the brim with candy-coated chocolate and notices how most of the adults there are doing the same. Bucky almost makes it to the end of the room without being noticed, but then there is a lady standing in front of him with a bag in hand. 

"Here's a bag, sir, if you'd like to make your own selection," she tells him before walking away.

The plastic bag is slick beneath his fingers, and after a second, Bucky knows what he's going to do. 

He leaves the store with a bag full of candy, and when he gets on the metro that evening, he pops a few M&Ms into his mouth and savors the milk chocolate that fills his mouth. 

All the pieces are red, white, and blue. 

________

**AUGUST 2014**

"Can we trust her?"

Natasha hums over the phone. "Absolutely not."

Sam groans, throwing an arm over his eyes, and Steve takes a deep breath. "Are you saying that out of personal experience?"

With his burner phone pressed tightly to his ear, Steve hears Natasha sigh through the static of their call. 

"Steve, you wanted my opinion. I gave it to you. Will Helena have the intel? Yes. Is she going to give it to you without trying to put a bullet in your skull? Probably not."

He rests a hand against his hip and leans back on the wall of the holed-in safehouse Sam managed to find for them in the slums of Volgograd. 

It's a departure from their hotel back in France. 

"How would you proceed, Natasha?"

There is nothing over the line, and for a moment, Steve wonders if she hung up until he hears her clear her throat. 

"Honestly?"

Steve snorts. "That'd be appreciated."

"I'd have just gotten the intel myself without her, but that's not an option for you. I think you know how I'd proceed then," she tells him, and Steve winces. 

He knows exactly how the Black Widow would proceed with this mission. 

"Thanks, I think I got it," he tells her before ending the call. He flips the phone in his hand before tossing it to the floor. It breaks in half under the heavy weight of his boot, and he picks up the pieces to toss in the trash. 

From across the room, Sam finally sits up. "This is going to suck."

Steve nods, eyes drawn to the bandage on Sam's shoulder where a bullet grazed him last week. "Yeah, it is."

"We're still going through with it though, right?"

Steve has the decency to at least look apologetic. 

"I figured," Sam says after moment and flops back onto the brick of mattress the two have to share during their stay in Russia. 

It'll be worth it though, Steve knows, if they can just get this last piece of their paper trail. 

He'll be able to find Bucky after that. 

________

Bucky has seen some strange things since leaving Hydra. 

Some he can explain. Others, well, he isn't sure if he wants to. 

Standing in Times Square — breathing light and shoulders lose despite the crowds — Bucky knows that he has found another thing he doesn't want to know about. 

"You waiting for a picture?"

Bucky jerks, and his newly cut hair brushes against his cheek. There is a couple standing next to him, and he doesn't even have to look twice to know they're tourists. 

He starts to shake his head, but then the man nudges him forward into the throng of other people who actually want to get a picture with this…well, he's not quite sure what he is. 

Bucky stumbles to a stop and looks up to find himself staring straight at the man's ass to see one simple statement written across the back of his briefs: THE NAKED COWBOY.

It's a fitting name. 

The cowboy turns when Bucky comes to a stop, holding an acoustic guitar against his exposed abs, and Bucky looks away when he takes a step closer. 

"You ready, big guy?"

Bucky tries to say no, but it's no use. Instead, he finds himself with the cowboy's arm draped across his shoulder, and Bucky doesn't even try to smile when the couple from earlier takes Bucky's picture on their phone. 

They look at the photo, squinting from the sun's glare on their phone screen, before calling out to Bucky. "Hey, do you want us to send you…"

But Bucky's already gone, stepping into the crowd and losing himself in the traffic of people learning the city just like himself. 

He gets about four blocks away when he starts laughing, and soon enough, he has to stop and let himself laugh — shoulders shaking and stomach pulling — because the world is even crazier than he ever remembered it being. 

And all he can think about is how Steve would look in those tight briefs and that leather hat. 

It's not a bad thought. 

________

**SEPTEMBER 2014**

Natasha was right. 

She always is, even if she's pretending that she doesn't know everything. She actually does. 

At least, that's what Clint tells Steve when he extracts them from that hellhole in Volgograd. Steve and Sam, both cut like ribbons and bruised to the bone, spread out in the quinjet while Clint and Natasha fly them out of dodge. 

She hasn't said anything yet, but Steve knows it will come later. He thinks she might even be proud of him. 

After all, he managed to get the intel. That's what matters. 

The paper files are a solid weight against his chest, and Steve fingers the papers from his seat. Sam is passed out across from him, taking up a whole row of seats in his efforts to get comfortable, and Steve eventually let him use his his jacket as a pillow. 

He's been asleep the whole time. 

"You sure made a mess of yourself, Rogers."

Steve doesn't jump at Natasha's voice, but it's a near thing. He looks up at her — taking in her wavy curls and clear eyes — and lets himself smile. He's not seen her since Fury's funeral. 

"You look good, Natasha."

The smile that fills her lips is nothing short of dangerous. "That's nice to hear."

She takes the seat next to him and keeps quiet. The hum of the jet fill the silence, and it is Steve who finally speaks up after a few minutes. 

"Will you translate these?"

Steve hesitates before holding the papers out to Natasha, and he's surprised to see how her eyes widen. She takes the folder from his hands carefully before flicking through the cyrillic-covered letters, reports, documents, and whatever else is stuffed into the file. Her eyes spin across the pages wildly, taking information as she looks over everything, and Steve leans forward to rest his head on his hands. 

When she reaches the end of the file, Natasha hands the file back to him, but he shakes his head. 

"No," he says, "Keep it. I trust you."

Natasha stares at him — through him in ways that Steve still isn't sure of — before getting to her feet. 

"We'll be in New York by morning. Get some sleep, Rogers. That's an order," she tells him before heading back to the cockpit where Clint has been blasting music the whole trip. 

He nods, fingering a salute at her back as she walks away. "Yes, m'am."

When he wakes up hours later, he's surprised there is no crick in his neck. After all, he'd given his pillow away, but the leather jacket that wound up cushioning his head smells of spices and gun oil. 

Steve knows that scent. He'll have to thank Natasha for it later. 

________

The air in Brooklyn still feels the same. 

Of everything that could have changed, really, Bucky had hoped it would be that. 

The air is stale with smoke and dust. The life of the city chokes the air as it curls upward, and the heat presses against him like a second skin. If it wasn't for the bike, Bucky is sure that he'd pass out from the heat. 

But the breeze is nice as he pedals down the streets, so he keeps going as the sun falls closer and closer to the horizon by the bridge. 

There is still so much he's got to see, and still, he's seen so much already. 

He's been to the building Steve and he grew up in before going to visit the orphanage they eventually ended up in. 

Their old school is a grocery store now. He stole a pack of gum — just another thing to satisfy his growing sweet tooth — and wondered if Mrs. Hutchins would have rapt him on the knuckles for indulging himself. 

Bucky eventually made it to the cemetery where his family lays. His parents' graves were worn and potted, but he could still make out their names against the grey stone. For his sisters, he left roses, and his ma got a batch of daisies he also bought at a florist on the way over. 

He left a knife with his father. Bucky can remember getting his first knife from his old man, so he leaves the last one he has at his grave.

It had just felt like what he should do.

He has traveled the city, watching life pass in and out of its busy streets as the day passed, and now Bucky finds himself heading to the Brooklyn Bridge just before twilight. The sky is deepening with shades of purple and orange that color his senses, and when he finally gets to the bridge, Bucky pulls to the side and watches the East River flow underneath him. 

Steve, he knows, will be back soon. 

That hunt could only last so long. The trail Bucky laid could only take him so far. 

Bucky leans against the railing of the bridge, shoulders tucked close as cars drive behind him. The waves below break slowly over each other, and the sound pulls Bucky's eyes shut as he thinks of another lifetime ago. One where Steve and he would spend hours by the river, talking and laughing and drinking before they both stumbled back home. 

It was a simpler time. 

It was a better time. 

Pulling away from the railing, Bucky swings his legs over his bike before he makes his way back into town. 

There is an spark in his chest pushing his legs faster as he pedals down the street. Bucky's hair lays flat against the wind, and when he turns onto the street of his apartment later that night, he takes an easy breath of familiar air. 

The air pulls into his lungs like a drug that Bucky forgot he was once addicted to.

It's time to move.

________

When Steve finally gets back to the Avengers Tower — stitched up and a little worse off than his limp would have others believe — all he wants is to take a shower and fall asleep. 

However, he steps into his living room and comes to a stop.

"Bucky?"

From across the room, Bucky is sitting on the couch, sifting through Steve's sketchbooks with a quirked smile that punches the air from Steve's lung. He looks up when Steve speaks, and he pushes himself to his bare feet. 

"Hey, pal. It's been awhile."

Steve doesn't say anything — he just launches himself across the room with wide steps before taking Bucky into his arms. The grip is tight against his waist, but Bucky leans into the embrace. Steve chokes a breath before bringing a hand up to Bucky's neck. 

He pulls away and looks into Bucky's eyes, and for a moment, Steve wonders if he'll ever feel so happy again in his life. 

Bucky clears his throat, looking back at Steve with glassy eyes, and lets his head fall onto Steve's broad shoulder. "A long time coming, Stevie. I've missed you,"

Steve nods.

"I know, Buck. I know."


	2. captain america: the musical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I just have some scenes I wanted to explore in this universe, and I had some messages on Tumblr from some readers who wanted to see more as well. 
> 
> This is the first ficlet I have ready, but please! If you have ideas would want to read for either Steve or Bucky in this universe, let me know. I would love to explore some more scenes like this. 
> 
> Let me know if you like it! As much as I love these scenes, I love to hear how you guys like them too.

**August 24, 2014**

Bucky does better in Time Square these days. 

He hugs close to storefronts, lining his steps up with the shadows cast by the hulking glass and mortar buildings that stretch into the skyline. Whenever the weather is nice, he's taken to perching on the upper level of McDonalds — complete with a drink to keep nosey employees off his radar — and watches the crowds as the days pass by. 

He rarely stays out after the sun sets. There is still something about the night with its bright neon lights that still puts him on edge. 

The only reason he stays out late today is because of the crumpled ticket in his pocket.

With the night sky hazy above him, Bucky keeps his chin tucked close to his chest as he makes his way down the streets. Couples pass him by, teetering in their heels and spritzed with cologne, but Bucky ignores them. He measures his steps, relishing in the heavy thud his boots make against the asphalt, until he sees the marquee a block away. There is a swelling crowd of people outside the building, clamoring around the red carpet and flashing cameras that makes Bucky's palms sweat. 

He tilts his head up towards the sign, and his lips curl when he reads the blocked lettering.

**

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE MUSICAL

**

**COME SEE THE STAR-SPANGLED MAN & HIS HOWLING COMMANDOS**

**OPENING NIGHT**

Bucky moves through the crowd, cataloguing the faces of famous actors and tycoons he's seen plastered on magazines over the past few months. 

It all means nothing. They're irrelevant.

Or, at least, that's what he believes until he spots a familiar face on red carpet. Two, in fact. 

Tony Stark is playing for the cameras, angling his sharp sunglasses down his nose and looking over them towards the gambit of cameras aimed at him. Bucky can see the tailored edges of his suit: the creased lapels and crowned wrist cuffs that are dipped red and gold. Everyone is focused on Tony, but it is the older man sitting next to him in a wheelchair that makes Bucky stop.

His lips thin, and Bucky has to wet them when his eyes catch those of Jim Morita. 

_Jesus, it's been ages._

The sagging wrinkles near Jim's eyes can't hide the surprise that shows through them when his focus finds Bucky through the crowd. His heart thuds thickly in his chest, and Bucky knows he needs to move. 

With a few careful steps, Bucky sidesteps his way towards the side entrance of the theater — chest trembling alongside his flesh-and-blood hand — before he manages to show his ticket to the staff at the door. 

Bucky walks slowly to his seat, marking people as he passes them by as he climbs to the balcony, and prays that Jim lost his sharp eye with old age. 

Somewhere, far away in the back of his mind, he knows he is wrong. After all, it's Jim he's talking about. 

When the musical is about to begin, there is a whirl of commotion when Tony walks onto the stage and christens Broadway's newest smash hit. He stands center-stage, bathing in the spotlight with his arms flung to his side, and Bucky counts the vital areas that he's left open. 

"Cap, _well_ , he's sorry he couldn't be here for tonight," Tony says during his speech, one hand dug deep in his pocket. "He's been away on a mission, and you know the man. Or, actually, you don't. I do though, so trust me when I tell you he's one of the most stubborn bastards I've ever met, myself included."

Laughter breaks through the auditorium. Bucky crosses his arms when Tony continues. 

"I didn't really get to know him until recently. Funny, but it's hard to get to know a guy when you're trying to save Manhattan from a hoard of ugly aliens," Tony jokes, and from the back of the room, someone whistles between their fingers to agree. 

Tony smirks, nodding backwards at the curtain stage behind him. "You want a scoop? Something to write about for tomorrow's headlines? The first conversation I ever had with our good old Captain was an argument. The second? We took low blows. He threatened me; I told him that everything special about him came from a bottle. You can imagine how that went over."

Bucky takes in a harsh breath, digging his fingers into his thigh to calm himself, and — thankfully — Tony keeps talking before Bucky can move from his seat. 

Turning on his heel, Tony pulls something out of his pocket, and it takes a moment to figure out why the audience has gotten so quiet. He closes closely, racking his brain to remember what Tony's got between his fingers, and it hits him all at once. 

It's a picture of Steve, soon after he broke the 107th from Hydra's base, and Bucky's memories trickle into a gap-toothed picture. There are flashes, but even from them, Bucky can remember when the photo was taken. 

He wonders how he ever forgot. It was taken the day that the Howling Commandos left for their first mission. 

Tony holds the picture out for the audience to see before he tucks it back into his pocket. "Sorry about the show-and-tell, but it proves a point. You can thank Morita over here for the picture, but I've just got one more thing to say before we get this show going — before I can get a glass of bourbon too."

Rolling his shoulders, Bucky leans forward, ignoring the plump man sitting next to him when he dabs his eyes with what looks to be a silk handkerchief. 

It makes Bucky's head spin.

"Captain America is what we're here for tonight on the opening of this show, but let's also remember Steve Rogers. Let's remember the life he lead, the sacrifice play he made, and the people he saved along the way. He's done a whole hell of a lot of good in this life, so tonight? We celebrate his legacy. "

The audience climbs to their feet with applause as Tony slips off stage to his seat, and Bucky taps his foot against the lacquered floor of the Helen Hayes Theater. 

When the shows begins, curtains drawn into the rafters to showcase a facade of Brooklyn that makes Bucky think he knew it from another lifetime, he watches with wide eyes as a group of kids start a fight on the stage. They're crowding around a boy, blue-eyed with wispy blonde hair, whose nose is dripping red and still manages to raise his fists to fight. 

The bullies take a step forward, and Steve doesn't even flinch. "Is that all you got," they taunt before the biggest pushes hard against Steve's shoulder.

When the falls to the ground, he coughs and struggles to get up. 

Bucky thinks it's strange that his stomach turns at this. 

"Get away from him!"

It's then that another boy comes rushing out from the side stage, dressed in patched slacks with dirty hands, and takes a swing at the oaf who took Steve to the floor. The rest of the bullies look to fight before they catch the look on this boys face and turn tail. 

On the ground, Steve groans and gets to his knees, licking at the blood on his lips. From under his bangs, he looks at the other boy when a hand is stretched out to him. 

"I had 'em on the ropes," Steve mumbles as he grips the other boy's hand in his. 

Bucky shakes his head with a loose smile, and from his seat, Bucky feels his throat swell. 

"Sure you did, punk."

Steve smiles. 

"Jerk."

The lights dim, music swelling as a chorus begins their first number — and, _what the hell_ , the kid playing Steve can sing like a goddamn angel.

Bucky can't look away. 

He knows, somehow, that this is how things had been before. 

Maybe without the singing. Maybe with a little less preaching from Stark. But still. 

It's more than a feeling. And, in the end, Bucky isn't sure how to explain himself. 

It's another thing he tries not to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow and fangirl with me on [tumblr](http://brooklynboystosupersoldiers.tumblr.com) because I love you all.


	3. god bless america

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA: Fourth of July at Coney Island
> 
> (Bucky has all the feels)

**July 4, 2014**

Bucky moves through the turnstile, edging his shoulder to the side of the car when a girl sits beside him — her blonde hair dip-dyed purple and eyes rimmed black — and swallows when the bar behind him closes over his lap.

The girl next to him leans forward, gripping tightly to the shoulders of the boys sitting in front of them. Bucky just grips the bar so tightly he fears he'll leave dents in his wake. 

"I hate you," she cries as ride lurches forward. The boys snicker when she slinks back into her seat, glancing at Bucky through the corner of her eyes. 

Bucky turns away. 

But, when the roller coaster comes to a stop, he helps her to her feet when the cars roll back to the loading dock. The line of people waiting for the ride stretches around the bend — filled with families and bored teens who try not to look excited when they hear the screams of riders high in the air echoing across the park.

Everything is loud. It's bright and flashy and forward in a way that Bucky isn't any more. 

He watches the girl stumble off with her friends, listing from side-to-side, until she jerks away from the group. She hugs the nearest trashcan, and even though Bucky looks away, he knows what comes next. 

He wants to laugh. It seems to be a trend. He thinks someone threw up last time he was at Coney Island before, _well_ , everything. 

The park is bathed in light under the darkening night sky, and the crowds are pulling towards the seashore. It's the fireworks, he overhears, that make the thousands rush to the park tonight. 

They say it's the best show they've ever seen. 

It's the biggest part of the day, some say, even bigger than Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Competition. 

Bucky still can't wrap his mind around that. He's still not sure he even wants to know.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Bucky closes in on himself as he makes his way towards the beach. 

He doesn't know why he's here. 

God, he wishes he knew. If something would just have the goddamn decency to make sense these days, Bucky would be plenty grateful. But the ghosts of his past linger behind him, shadowing his steps, and they are gone when he turns — arms stretched and fingers splayed widely in their attempts to grab onto whatever is there.

He wonders if there is anything left. If maybe the man who was once James Barnes is no more than a specter from the past come to haunt him.

Bucky shakes his head, rustling his hair that's tucked into a loose bun. He tries not to think too much about it. 

When he makes it to the beach, slipping into the ground as his boots flounder in the shifting sand, Bucky stands at the back of the crowd. Even with his sharp stare, he loses track of the people in front of him as they gather by the coast — drinks in hand, skin bare, and limbs loose as music blares across the beach. 

For Bucky? All the sound makes his ear prick. He can't get drunk, not anymore. And his skin is covered by layers of damp cotton. 

He's still not sure if he keeps the sleeves to protect others or himself. 

So, Bucky just crosses his arms and waits. 

He's rewarded — thirty minutes? an hour? — later when the first set of fireworks rocket into the sky, exploding with a loud whistle and bang that makes him grind his teeth together. The crowd keens, twittering with hands flung towards the sky, and their yelling and singing songs that Bucky's never heard before. 

**And the rockets red glare,**

**The bombs bursting in air.**

_No_ , he corrects himself. _I know that one._

_I remember._

He watches the fireworks, letting his eyes trail down the falling sparks as they float towards the sea. The colors are vibrant, more so than he ever can remember them being. They come in all shades of red, blue, green, and gold. They fizzle and shift under the pressing wind, and all across the crowd, faces are lit underneath their explosive light. 

It hits suddenly.

Bucky is standing when his chest tightens, squeezing the air from his lungs, and he brings his metal hand to clutch the skin stretched over his heart. 

He can't breathe.

But he can see a boy in his head — a little slip of a thing with a crooked jaw and bright eyes — sitting on a fire escape as fireworks burst in the sky above. 

He can't _fucking_ breathe. 

But, then again, he thinks he can also see himself in his head, younger and gap-toothed, but sitting next to his friend — Steve — like they have all the time in the world. 

"…call someone?"

"He…alright now…maybe?"

"Sir," a voice calls, and Bucky jerks his head towards the sound. He sees a group of kids circling him, all with their phones in hand and mouths screwed into tight lines. 

One of the steps forward. "Hey, man, you alright?"

Bucky heaves, relishing the air that slides into his lung, before he takes a step back. 

He takes another. 

And another. 

Before he knows it, he is running — to where, he isn't sure. His legs pump beneath him, solid under his weight and without hesitation. He doesn't stop to look back. 

Another loud crack erupts, whistling shrilly in the sky above, and a white light bathes the gravel road in front of him. 

Even with the light, he still can't see. 

He doesn't know where he's going. 

Bucky wonders if he ever has.

**Author's Note:**

> follow and fangirl with me on [tumblr](http://brooklynboystosupersoldiers.tumblr.com) because I love you all.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, settings, plot lines, concepts, or terminology as created, used, and owned by Marvel Entertainment, LLC ®. This is a work of fanfiction.


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